It's Not a Slump
dear creators,
In my last letter, I was wondering about the necessity of incubation— those substantial durations of time when you’re not trying to do anything so that energy and material can be easily gathered for a creative ramping and unfolding.
This month, I’ve been oscillating between feeling groggy and having brief bursts of aliveness, accompanied by compulsive eating. At one point I found myself asking, “what am I, a bear-coming-out-of-hibernation?” (that’s if I want to pretend that I know what it feels like to be a bear). Then I remembered something that Bill Callahan had written in ‘Letters to Emma Bowlcut’ (pg. 48):
Letter 40
“Everything I’ve done today could have been done by a bear. The long seasoned sleep. The lumbering out of bed. Tearing at a hard roll dipped in honey. And then sprawling lazily in the grass where the sun hit. I was going to take a bath but decided that would have been too much bear activity, so I showered. Or will in a bit. If I took a bath I think I would hunker down, expecting Emma Salmon to swim by so I could scoop her up.
Saw a lone deer at yesterday’s sunset. It looked down the road with an expression as if waiting for something in particular. Antlers. That deer had a nice face. Like it would help you out in a jam if it could.
We are both going away. I had thought it was only me. I will now be paying more attention to what you will pack than to what I will.
Last night the wind was blowing fierce and temperatures were dropping fast. The blind knocked a glass item off the sill. I knew it would happen but left the glass item there anyway. The bedroom door was slamming open and shut. Fell asleep and woke with a scream while staring at a dark spot on the wall. When lightening flashed I saw the horizon on all four walls. Your silhouette on each. I knew then that I know exactly what it would feel like to stand before you again. With your nose moving as it does.
When I got up I noticed several complete outfits of clothes in piles on my floor. As if a group of men had dropped them and gone out into the storm naked.
If you think of something, do you stop to write it down?”
Even though some of this text might come across as relatively abstract, the descriptions somehow manage to totally capture my patterns of existence and feelings over the last few weeks. I literally have several complete outfits in piles on my floor at this moment—the socks are even still positioned at the bottom of the pant legs.
I would like to say that I’m in a transition period— just on the brink of a brilliant revival (without getting too clingy to that idea). If I really were a bear, I probably wouldn’t be doubting the natural timing for coming out of a deep slumber and I wouldn’t feel lame about being spaced-out while hunting for snacks all day.
I figure as long as I bumble around in the studio and make some things without useless pressure to make anything good, I won’t be in any danger of giving in to demon thoughts that say, “you’re in a slump!”
Hope no one out there is beating themselves up for feeling like you’re just waking up.
Warmthness,
Corrie